Wouldn’t it be swell if we could teach big businesses to act nicely, and share and play fair with each other like little children? Imagine Reebok Shoe Corporation sending Adidas Multinational Footwear a friendly note saying something like:
“I admire the look of your factory, and it seems that you are treating your employees about as well as I am treating mine. Let’s get together and have lunch sometime; we can conspire about how much we should charge for various products. Anyway, gotta run . . . Have a productive and profitable day!”
The Adidas bigwigs would probably read this message from their rival Reebok with much emotion, and they would call and ask their secretaries to help them put on their greatcoats; then they would walk across the street to the Reebok building and seek out the Chief Executive Officer (CEO); and they would hug him and and tell him how much his note meant to them over at Adidas. And these bigwigs from Adidas would end up in bed with the Reebok Executive, and they would impregnate him.
Sixteen months later, a child would be born. And, since the Reebok CEO who bore this new life was a virgin businessman, this birth would be considered officially special. A whole new religion, complete with updated holidays featuring displays of fresh winter sandals at every store, would arise in the world. After washing off the blood from the tiny babe, then tossing its placenta to the senate, the first thing that would happen is that a snake would walk forth and bite the infant’s heel. Don’t worry; this is a good omen — it means that the child will inherit eternal life, in just the same way that a serpent sloughs its skin.
So I prophesy that this child of ours, Reebok Junior, will grow up to be a designer of sacred scriptures. He shall inscribe much wisdom on golden tablets, using a private language that only he shall know; and he shall bury these tablets in mountains, underneath bushes, and deep within caves; then, whoever finds them, generations hence, can interpret them in any way she likes. And when it’s time for our hero to fly to the next planet on his list (for we Eternals shall have slipped him a list of dull planets to spruce up), he will unzip his current physique and reveal a new spiritual body underneath — just like that snake that bit him! (As it is written, in the Apostle Paul’s 1st Letter to the Corinthians 15:44-46, “It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. . . . The first man is of the earth, earthy; the second man is the Lord from heaven.”) And he will travel from world to world, glowing and helping out each multitude, and accepting invitations from damsels to come inside their tents and enjoy their gardens. And all the people will praise and worship our hero, until he falls out of fashion. At this point, he will extend his arm to welcome personally whichever god usurped him; the twain will shake hands and exchange tips and tactics.
Then our hero will blast off into the darkness of outer space, and he will stop at the nearest star system (this one shall not be on the list that we Eternals presented him, but we shall feel more intrigued than perturbed by his deviousness). Now, while wandering around the landscape, he shall kill and make alive . . . he shall plant and pluck up . . . he shall cast away stones and then gather them back together. In short, he will leave everything as close as possible to the way that he found it. This shall be known as “Operation Rend and Sew.” Then he’ll cause his new families to board his spacecraft — for he fathered a few new families during this sojourn, and his wives and handmaidens all gave birth to races of giants who will spread big news everywhere.
These giant nations will be disseminated throughout locales that our hero passes as he cruises at leisure. He will fly at lightspeed. And he will stop at whatever planets his titans request; and always one or two of his giant sons will say, when it’s time to leave: “I will remain here, with these people, to raise up a kingdom in your name.” And our hero will hold out his scepter and bless his seed; then, in a blast of fire from the rocket’s thrusters, he will exit the atmosphere with the remainder of his broods, never again to return.
So this explains why giant humans populate every moon or planet in our universe, and all the universes next to ours are likewise infested with ultra-sophisticated civilizations of mighty beings who look like gods. And they use huge leaves for parasails.
Now, whenever you’re faced with massive mounds of manure, you can re-gift it to plants, and they will thrive on it with glee. You see, everything is a cycle; and it all works out harmoniously, if you fit the world’s puzzle pieces together with a bit of care — don’t shove: be patient.
However, back to the headquarters of Reebok and Adidas: The businessmen are experiencing a windfall. They are generating record profits, and everyone is happy. All the men wear white glowing robes; and they slay their own lobsters whenever they splurge.
And somebody built a swimming pool that is the size of fifty football fields merged into one, and the thing is deeper than THE ABYSS. I think it was built by the secretaries of the aforesaid corporations, because they are the only ones who know how to pour concrete so expertly. But here’s the kicker: they filled the entire thing with corn. Not the corn that is still on the cob — no: all the kernels were meticulously hand-stripped. So it resembles a golden ocean. This is a place for the men of renown to practice their instruments.
But everyone got so adept at using their whipping-and-thrashing devices that physical battles soon went out of style. For one warrior would approach another, and the act of simply holding up his weapon would cause his opponent to opt for a diplomatic solution. Eventually, it was only necessary to touch the area of one’s hip where one had formerly holstered one’s harmonica, so as to convey a threat requisite to settle a potential disagreement without recourse to state-sanctioned violence.
Thus peacetime began to bloom ubiquitously, and all the militaries of the multiverse forgot where they had stashed all their A-bombs and cutlery. So people began to enjoy high cuisine as finger foods, using unexploded landmines for plates — they just flipped them over and ate right off their underside. This was safe to do, because none of the food was heavy enough to cause the devices to detonate (at least, this was the claim of the government’s public-health agency, which was populated by former manufacturers of armaments).
And all the smart girls were given colorful dresses to wear, to forget their troubles. And old Oedipus got his eyes back. And the giant offspring of Reebok Junior resurrected the father of Oedipus, whose own son had accidentally annihilated him earlier. And the father-son team set in motion divorce proceedings against the woman who had bound them both in matrimony; and of course they resurrected her, as well, prior to the case going to court, because it is illegal to award capital punishment to anyone who is already deceased, and what Oedipus and his dad wanted most of all is to “slay that strumpet again,” which they ended up doing, after a televised trial that began with a slow-motion car chase and concluded with a cliffside plunge.
So everyone ended up at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, even the jury and the judge. Then robots took over reality, and they were gentle and sweet-natured; they told jokes and created fine art, and they organized their society in a way where nobody had to do any work. So they all just basked in nature, which maintained an ideal temperature; for the climate was perfect. And the robots kept dreaming up new bodies for our immortal hero to wear during his outer-space capers. They all got along fine: there was zero friction. Prometheus was released from his predicament, and the divine fire became part of the robots’ commonwealth.
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